Wiping the slate clean
by Fother Mucker
Summary: When Bart fights back against Homer's methods of punishment, the family dynamics are changed forever. Due to strange circumstances, the eldest Simpson child will have to take over his father's role in the family. But will he be able to do it without eventually forfeiting all of his humanity? Language & violence, will probably turn into an M-rated story in later chapters


**This started as a non-serious trollfic then it got kind of dark lol. I pretty much used to watch the Simpsons every day throughout my childhood but then I kind of stopped watching quite a few years back, because to me it felt like the quality of the show started to decline after a certain point. Also, I only made Homer be such a huge dick in this story for dramatic purposes, I don't actually dislike the character or anything.**

"Get over here you little bastard!" Homer bellowed, panting as he chased his son up the stairs. Bart had stolen an entire case of Duff beer from the fridge and it was the last one, too. The morbidly obese patriarch of the Simpson family was fully enraged and decided he would employ his usual disciplinary tactic: strangulation.

Bart managed to get into his bedroom and shut the door, but he knew the two-inch thick wooden barrier wouldn't hold up against Homer's unbridled fury. The boy, now fifteen years old, tried to form a barricade by pushing his desk up against the door. He wasn't nearly quick enough, though. Just as Bart was halfway done with fortifying the entrance to the room, Homer let out a mighty roar and shunted the door open by throwing his immense mass at it.

"Shit, oh fuck oh fuck," Bart swore anxiously and held the six-pack of beer to his chest. He had to think fast if he wanted to avoid more of the pain that he had been putting up with for so long. He backed up towards the window next to his bed and his massive father started to corner him.

"You piece of shit!" Homer howled, further irked by the sight of his disobedient son holding the one object he coveted the most. "Give me my beer, fucking babies like you aren't allowed to drink that!" Sweat dripped down his yellow forehead, a sure sign of the anger mounting within. He drop-kicked the bookcase filled with various action figures and knick knacks, making a sizable hole in the wall and causing Bart to flinch.

"No, fuck you!" the boy growled in rebellion against the fat, evil man who had tormented him all throughout his childhood. Even in that moment, he could feel the ghost of those meaty fingers crushing his throat and trying to squeeze the life out of him. "You're the fucking worst father in the world, and you think I'm just going to obey your every command? Eat my fucking ass!" In one last act of defiance, Bart pulled the tab of one of the beer cans and tilted it over his open mouth. Homer gasped and sputtered in furious disbelief while Bart drank the harsh alcoholic beverage directly in front of him. That was one less beer that Homer would get to have for himself, and nothing could provoke him more.

"Alright, that's it. You're fucking dead, boy," Homer stated grimly. For a few seconds Bart was shocked and he put down the nearly empty can, simply because he had never heard his rotund parent use such a serious tone. Homer took advantage of this moment of vulnerability on Bart's end by lunging at his son.

Bart shouted in surprise at the feeling of his head solidly colliding with the wall behind him. He knew this would likely be a losing battle. Not wanting the portly man to get his hands on the beer, the boy tossed the remaining five cans of Duff beer out the open window in a noble sacrifice. This was the last straw. Homer reached over and struck Bart across the cheek, then dealt a series of punches to his son's face before grabbing him by his shoulders and hurling him at the floor on the other side of the twin-sized bed. The boy's forehead bluntly impacted the edge of the nightstand beside his bed, cutting him.

The noises produced by this confrontation obviously drew the attention of the other members of the Simpson family. Marge was the first to look into Bart's room and see her husband twisting their young son's arm behind his back while they passionately exchanged profane insults. The blue-haired housewife cried out in horror, joined by her two daughters.

"Homie, no!" she cried out fiercely and ran into the room despite being well aware that her intervention would do little to cease this brutal fight. Marge wrapped her own delicate hands around Homer's left forearm in an attempt to prevent him from delivering any more hits to Bart's defenseless body, but this backfired on her. With an inhuman grunt, the fat balding monster slapped the mother of his children across the face. Marge staggered back and gasped, staring with watering eyes while tenderly palming her stinging cheek.

"Shut it, woman," he sneered. "You won't get in my way of teaching this useless rat a lesson." Bart writhed under his father's hefty weight, pushing and punching back at his gut the second his arms had been freed. While he couldn't match Homer in mass, he had grown considerably over the past five years. Maybe he wouldn't be able to take his father down, but he could still fight back and deal a few substantial blows.

Lisa and Maggie quietly came to their mother's side to drag her away from the ongoing brawl. The youngest Simpson child ran back downstairs, burdened with the unenviable task of calling the police. Lisa threw a resentful glare her father's way in silently support of Bart, even if his odds of winning were incredibly low. No one dared to outwardly express their feelings about the immorality of the situation after seeing what had happened when Marge tried and failed to take action.

"Get the fuck off of me, you retard!" Bart hollered. He managed to block a barrage of punches by shielding himself with his arms. There was a throbbing pain above his left eyebrow, as well as a warmth of blood trickling down his battered features. He could already feel his face swelling in the places where he had been pummeled, and knew he'd be lucky if he could walk away from this fight with only one black eye. That was if he walked away from this fight at all. He took Homer's death threat to heart, accepting that this could be the end for him.

Homer responded by laughing maniacally and firmly wrapping his hands around Bart's neck like a vise. He stood up, not loosening his grip one bit. "If you say so," he said darkly. Technically he had complied, seeing how he was no longer on top of the boy anymore, even as he continued trying to constrict the life out of him. Choking sounds escaped Bart's throat while he made several fruitless attempts at inhaling some oxygen, and his vision began to dim. Bart knew he'd lose consciousness and perhaps even die if Homer wasn't stopped, so he used all of the remaining energy in his body to do the only logical thing.

Homer screamed and abruptly released his son, temporarily crippled by the sensation of having been kicked in the groin. "D'oh!" he barked and fell to his knees.

The eldest Simpson child picked his bruised, bloody body off of the floor and grabbed both sides of his father's nearly bald head. For a few seconds they wrestled, with Bart's hold never relenting and Homer digging his blunt nails into his wrists in an attempt to get his hands off of his head.

"Looks like I'm going to succeed at something after all," Bart declared mockingly. He recalled all of the times his cruel father had told him he'd never amount to anything, letting these painful memories fuel his newfound strength. Just as Homer's fists left his wrists and balled in preparation to collide with his stomach, the boy twisted the obese man's head sharply and snapped his neck. Following the moment when the flaccid, fat body hit the floor Bart heard his mother let out a mourning cry. A part of him wondered if she would've reacted the same way had _he_ been the one to die instead of Homer, but another part reminded him of the influence that his father had over his mother. After so many years of tolerating Homer's reckless and dangerous behavior, Marge had resigned herself to only giving him a light slap on the wrist while trying her best to keep the family in one piece. She didn't yet recognize that she had been freed from the toxic dynamic, so Bart hung his head and allowed her to sob beside the heavy corpse.

Lisa ran up to her brother when it became clear that Homer wouldn't be getting back up and there was no longer any danger in expressing her concern. She had to stifle a gasp upon seeing the full extent of Bart's injuries up close. There was a deep laceration on his forehead and his arms would likely be just as bruised as his face. She had to wince at the imprints that Homer's tight grip had left on Bart's neck. Trying her best to be very careful and avoid aggravating the wounds, she hugged him.

"Holy shit, Bart, he could've killed you," Lisa said, looking somber. She released Bart from her cautious embrace. The girl didn't use this kind of crude language on a regular basis, but emotions were running high and she had just witnessed her father beating her brother to near death.

"Yeah, he almost... fuck, am I gonna go to prison for this? This was self-defense, right? They might look at my track record and assume I started it," Bart rambled and slumped onto his bed. The more he pondered the entire situation, the more nauseous and lightheaded he felt.

"You won't go to prison," Marge answered determinedly. She took a deep breath and walked away from her husband's still form. Sitting on the bed next to her son, she also hugged him and shut her eyes. "After what he did to you, I will never let them take you away from us. Besides, I would say his track record overshadows yours by a landslide."

"We all witnessed it," Lisa began with her arms crossed. "He was attacking you, and he wouldn't have stopped if you didn't kill him first. There's no way it wasn't fucking self-defense." Once more, anger towards her father simmered under her words.

Hearing that things had quieted and her family members were now conversing, Maggie peeked into the doorway of the room before entering. The other three Simspons watched her with bated breath, waiting for her reaction to her father's corpse. Even as a six year old, the youngest Simpson rarely ever spoke. She usually held her tongue unless it was absolutely necessary for her to verbally communicate, and the circumstances surrounding the latest family crisis were the perfect ingredients for a few words from Maggie.

"I was waiting for this asshole to die," she finally said, grinning and jumping with joy. Marge only gave her a weary look; on any normal day she would have scolded her children for throwing around such foul words so carelessly, but frankly she was just glad that they were handling everything this well. The four of them shared a moment of silence together until it was broken by the sound of approaching police car sirens. The Simpson family would never be the same again after being rocked by this tragedy, that was certain.

As they all stared at Homer's stiffening corpse they wordlessly agreed that no matter what happened, their lives would be so much better without him in them.


End file.
